


Control

by vulcansmirk



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcansmirk/pseuds/vulcansmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Spike spend the night in Buffy's bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> This has no particular place in the timeline and may not even make sense anywhere in canon. Mostly, it functions as a study of the relationship between Buffy and Spike, and a character study of Buffy in particular. I hope you enjoy it! This is also the first explicit piece I've written in years, so sorry if it's a little sloppy. I tried not to get squeamish. Don't be afraid to leave feedback! (Just try to keep it constructive, okay? ♥)

Spike lifted Buffy up off her feet and rammed her back against the wall, and she knew she was in control. The broken edges of drywall digging into her spine, the press of Spike’s chest flush with hers, his cock hardening against her inner thigh – she knew this, hunger and darkness and violence, and it was hers. She smirked into it, and his hot tongue devoured the curve of her lips.

_Xander’s gonna have to fix that wall again,_ Buffy thought absently. She felt her fingers grip Spike’s hips and yank him in closer, harder, and he groaned helplessly into her mouth and ground into her, hands braced against the wall. Buffy craned forward, plunging her tongue halfway down Spike’s throat; she put all of her formidable strength into the circular motion of her hips as she wrapped one leg around each of Spike’s and _squeezed_. (Was that a moan of pain or pleasure?) Buffy was pinned, and she might have been helpless, except that she wasn’t. Not even close. She was floating free, and he was gasping for air.

“Buffy...” Spike panted against her neck now, and she felt the warm slick of his tongue and then the sharp pinch of his teeth, no sharper than they should be, but working studiously at her carotid. Old habits. His hands fell to her shoulders as he ground his cock into her thigh again, and her mouth fell open in a wordless cry and her head fell back and slammed against the quickly-disintegrating wall.

Spike mouthed his way down Buffy’s sternum and then back up her throat, her jaw, crushing his lips against hers and tangling their tongues together. They mingled hot wet breath and tongues, and then just breath as their mouths separated and the focus shifted lower, Spike pressing his forehead to Buffy’s with bruising force and curling long, desperate fingers around her ass and thrusting against her with small, rhythmic moans. He seemed close to coming already, and they hadn’t even taken their pants off.

_Tut-tut,_ Buffy thought, digging thumbs into his hipbones and forcing him back, at which action he let out a pathetic dissatisfied noise.

“Whatever happened to all that stamina you like to brag about?” Buffy teased, a smirk dancing again on her lips as they ghosted across Spike’s. Holding his body carefully away from hers, she unwound her legs from Spike’s and began forcing him back toward the bed. His fingers dug into her ribs now, and he kept diving in toward her throat with teeth and tongue.

Spike toppled backward onto the bed, and Buffy after him, gravity closing the distance between them. Buffy ground her hips repeatedly into Spike’s, each wave of her body urging him further up the bed until he lay flat across the mattress, head on the pillow, staring up at her with bright eyes and a wide, toothy grin. She straightened, straddling him with heavy-lidded eyes and grinding down on him slowly, tauntingly.

She went for the shirt first, that tight black T-shirt that accentuated his toned chest. Her hand slid up beneath it, palm pressing into flesh, exposing his pale skin inch by inch. Then she took in both hands and ripped it in two. Spike moaned, back arching, head thrown back, smoothing his hands along Buffy’s thighs in two long symmetrical bruises. Buffy reached down and felt cool metal in her fingers, then flicked open the button on his pants and yanked down the zip. Her fingertips brushed along Spike’s cock, and a shudder ran along his whole body, along with a curse that was almost a whimper.

Spike seemed to regain some semblance of self-awareness, because he lowered his gaze until he could meet Buffy’s eye, reaching up with clumsy fingers toward Buffy’s shirt. He sat up, whining as the motion crushed their hips together again; then he went to work on the buttons on her shirt. Spike’s hips still thrust periodically up into hers, but Buffy found herself taken aback at how slowly, how _reverently,_ he undressed her. When he’d divested her of her shirt, he wrapped his fingers around her ribs again, but gently now, pressing his nose to her chest and breathing her in. She felt his seldom-used air rushing in currents across her skin, wriggling into her bra, and her smile faltered.

Spike was humming now, low and deep. Buffy felt the vibrations in her chest. He slipped the fingers of one hand beneath the waistband of her jeans, beneath her panties, too, stroking the delicate space where her thigh met her hip as his other hand undid the button on her jeans. He left a wet trail between her breasts with a slow, thorough tongue, and under it a red mark that began quickly to inch toward purple. Then Spike pulled back and locked eyes with her from below as he lifted her gently from his lap and slid off her pants, tossing them to the floor.

Buffy’s head was a bit fuzzy by this point. She slid her hands across Spike’s bare chest and beneath the tattered remains of his shirt, scraping her fingernails along his biceps as she pulled the shirt off him completely. Then her hands were buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back into her throat, and his hands were spread across her back, unclipping her bra. Spike bit hard on the pulsing veins in her neck as he tossed the bra aside, and then his tongue drifted back down over her newly-exposed nipple, his shaking fingers skating across her hips and hooking themselves beneath her panties, yanking them off, too.

As Spike’s mouth wandered mindlessly across her bare chest, Buffy heard a keening whimper, and it took her a moment to realize it was in her own voice. Her whole world felt concentrated in Spike’s mouth, moving along her collarbone now, and his hands, sliding between their hips and pulling his cock free. She felt his zipper biting into her thigh, and then she felt his cock pressed to her clit, and for an instant her whole lower half went numb.

Sensation came rushing back when he slid inside her, hips rough and wanting. He thrust into her rhythmically along with her quickened pulse, and she felt like she was being slowly cloven in two. At the same time, Buffy was utterly disarmed by Spike’s hands, which continued to stroke fervently but gently in long, slow lines all the way from her ribs to her hips down her thighs and back up again. Her muscles suddenly felt weak, and she collapsed around him, draping herself across his shoulders, and his thrusts picked up pace and her mind was all white noise and she almost didn’t hear it when he said “God, Buffy, you’re beautiful,” and “I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much.”

Her body felt torn in two, but when she tumbled over the precipice with him moaning his release into her ear, inside she felt like she had been crushed back together again. Her insides throbbed with her pulse and seemed poised to shatter, but she felt whole.

Softly, Spike kissed his way down Buffy’s jaw, and when he reached her lips he lingered there. When he finally pulled out, Buffy was still trembling.

Spike laid her down without a word, pressing his chest against her back and draping his arm over her waist. Buffy felt his lips pressed to the nape of her neck, and she closed her eyes and choked down something like a scream. This tenderness, this completeness, this dark that felt warm and safe rather than cold and vicious – this wasn’t hers. She didn’t know this at all.

It was a long time before Buffy stopped trembling.


End file.
